soliloquy

Palette

Palette. 

I use it to squirt paint and dab my paint brush on it. A palette is the holder of paints, a place where you can dip a paint brush and swipe it into long, beautiful strokes on a clean canvas. 

I find palettes beautiful. 

The holder of paints. Of vibrant colours. Of neutral colours. A holder of paints that can create something so breath taking and vividly amazing and dazzling. 

Palettes, I have loads of them. 

Stacked in a large pile in a corner of my tree house, some dirty and some new and some clean. I stroke the palettes sometimes, feel it's rough scars and rough edges and be bewitched by the feeling underneath my fingertips. 

And it's so beautiful, I have to squirt paint on it. 

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An artist's mind is a beautiful place, 

Where one could simply get lost,

And hope to never come back to reality,

But what an artist needs to create his work,

Is not a brush, or his paint, or a canvas,

But a palette to hold the colours of his masterpiece,

A palette that could hold his dreams and imagination,

Stable and secure. 

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Palettes either have a smooth surface or a rough one. 

The smooth ones are the new ones, ready to be used, to be squirted with paint and to have meaning. The rough ones have already fullfiled their destiny, and have been the holder of paints that created master pieces such as Guernica or the Girl with the pearl earring.

I like the rough ones better. 

Full of character, and history. So whenever I come across a thrift store, I always buy the used palettes. That way, I like to think maybe Cezanne or Picasso had once used it. Probably never did, but it didn't hurt to think, did it? 

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"Hello, sweetest sir. My name is Palette, do you need any help?"